Visit to Gold Hill

Fort Weyr - Training Complex
The remnants of a historic collapse are apparent here, as the slope face of the bowl has a predominant downward curvature. It's likely long ago, that a cavern larger than any Fort currently has was where the training complex currently is. A probable cave in triggered a fissure on the bowl wall which lead to a great chunk of it dislodging, thus creating the rounded slope.
Yet, many centuries later, all that remains to give evidence is the pocket made into the bowl wall. It seems that the inhabitants of Fort Weyr have made best of the created space. Rock on the ground proper has long since cleared, but pebbles and loose shale are constantly underfoot. Still, the sprig of some green leafed vegetation isn't too out of the ordinary in these parts, as long as it doesn't get trampled by the comings and goings.
It's clear that this area has been designated for the training of young minds, whether human or dragon. Surrounded by rock on all side, it's like a personal weyr bowl for the youngsters to minimize distraction and danger. The candidate barracks have been built across from the Weyrling barracks, so that one group can educate the next. Finally, placed in the center of the two entrances of the opposing barracks, near the rock face, is a statue with a memorial plaque.


Spring is coming! It's not quite here yet, but there's promise of it in the air. A faint gust of warm…okay, so there's no warm breezes or baby bunnies or gentle rainfall yet. This is spring in Fort, and that means mud. And downpours. And more mud. And frozen mud. But despite all that, today is a fairly mild day. The skies are clear and there is not a breath of wind so, despite the chilly temperature, it's quite tolerable to be outside. Which is where Kimmila is, standing beside Varmiroth in the Training Grounds, waiting for the selected contingent of Weyrlings to join her. It's Gold Hill day, and they've been told as much. With all the mutterings going around about the hold, perhaps they'll get some actual answers now, instead of the rumors.

This sort of false spring or mild winter may have some in brighter moods, but it's the bane of one particular bluerider. All the rain and cold and damp does a number on M'icha's old injury and of late the Weyrlingmaster's mood has been a shade shorter and a lot more withdrawn as his leg rebels against much activity. On this particular day, he's in no better shape and it's obvious enough as he limps out stiffly from the barracks despite the use of his cane. Grimacing, M'icha does his best to mask his discomfort as he makes his way over to where Kimmila is standing by Varmiroth. "Ought to be all set," he calls out to her, skipping greetings and all the formal nonsense. He knows the other bluerider well enough by now. By the time he's come to a stop, he's huffing a bit and leaning on his cane. "You're sure about taking 'em?" he asks, brows lifting slightly as he regards Kimmila with a mildly curious expression. Still time to say no! "Especially to /that/ Hold." he mutters and as he turns to glance back to the barracks, his hand slips inside his jacket and withdraws with a flask held firmly between his fingers.

D'ani arrives, led by Dremkoth, who is freshly oiled, gleaming in the sun and all harnessed and ready. The buckles and clips jingle in the bronze's haste to be out there and going somewhere NEW! He flows over the ground, paws thudding softly - or make that squishing - though each paw is slid neatly into the muck in such a way that he doesn't splash or splatter his belly. He makes it there first and turns his graceful neck to huff at his lifemate for his slowness. "I'm coming, I'm coming already! Shells, Drem the hold isn't going anywhere!" There's no use in even trying to keep his polished boots clean, ugh. He too, steps carefully so the rest of his flight leathers remain at least reasonably un-spotted. Must represent Fort Weyr as best he can, after all. He slogs to a stop and salutes both Kimmila and M'icha with his free hand. The other has gloves and goggles with helmet tucked under the arm. For now he keeps his curiosity curbed in favor of simply being ready and on time.

Eirwyn is coming out of the barracks tugging her gloves on as Xucieth follows behind. The green looks almost excited about going out today, though her rider looks a touch more on the anxious side. The green weyrling remains quiet as she checks her green's straps and double checks them, ensuring each buckle is secure. Once settled that she can't make them anymore secure, Eirwyn finally turns to the leaders of the expidition. Perhaps her own hold background causing her reservation. As she waits Eirwyn looks around to the other weyrlings and notes different levels of excitement.

Kimmila turns to watch M'icha approach, her posture straightening slightly out of respect for the Weyrlingmaster. Respect that he's earned over the last few months, since he took over. "I'm sure," she says with a nod. "They should see that not everything is as rosy as Fort Hold. Plus," and here she smirks, "they can't do more damage than I did." Which is funny because it's true. "The Weyrlings I've chosen will do well." And here they come! Turning, Kimmila surveys them as they arrive - both them and their lifemates. She is dressed well, in warm and worn but well cared for riding gear, the middle stretched a bit tight over her growing belly. She even wears her knot - Wingsecond, with another tassel. Whatever that means. Waving off the salutes as she always does, she rocks back onto her heels and slips her hands into her pockets. "So. We're heading to Gold Hill and you need to know the situation before we just jump right in. My last visit to this mining and crafting hold did not go well." She even smirks at the memory. "I was, frankly, insulted by their heir's attitudes towards both me and towards how the hold was to be run. Even more shocking, I noticed they had no guards posted. None. When I told the heir this, he shrugged me off without so many words. His father, Lord of Gold Hill, was of much the same mind. Refusing to post guards when no news of Laris has been forthcoming the last few turns. I was…" and there's another smirk, "a bit insistent with him, but in the end he still refused. As you well know, weyrs can't tread too deeply into Hold business, so Fort Hold was notified. Gold Hill has refused to post guards at their insistence as well. So this is the line we walk. Gold Hill should have guards posted, because with Laris still unaccounted for, such a rich hold is a sitting duck for attack. We've increased sweeps, and we've encouraged riders to visit to look at or purchase their goods - jewelry, mostly, as their name implies. But that's all we can do. So today we're going to take the trip and fly straight, and see how things are going there. And hopefully they've posted some guards, but I seriously doubt it. Any questions?"

"No, of course not. I ain't saying that," M'icha waves off half her reply with the very hand that holds the flask. Deftly does he uncap it, taking a shallow swig of whatever the contents are. Fellis laced alcohol? Just alcohol? Who knows. Never is the Weyrlingmaster inebriated while on duty though. No one can fault him here, at least. Once his throat is clear, he adds in a low tone to Kimmila while returning the flask to some inner jacket pocket, "No, I suppose not. Not that you /did/ much." And he smirks there. Clearly, he shares no love for Gold Hill Hold. As the selected group emerges, M'icha's brows lift slightly and his keen gaze focuses sharply on both D'ani and Eirwyn, then both their lifemates respectfully. No doubt checking for himself that they've got themselves in proper order while Kimmila addresses them. Satisfied both with the Weyrlings and the bluerider's words, M'icha only speaks up to add, "Regardless of the situation, you're to be on your best behavior. Keep your wits about you and a sharp eye and ear. Most of all, listen to /her/," Cue the thumb jab at Kimmila. "She's in charge of ya for this venture." All alone. M'icha is not dressed at all for flight, let alone visiting Holds. Leaving it at that, the Weyrlingmaster leans off his cane and turns to face Kimmila again and steps in close enough to mutter something low and under his breath for her ears alone. Then with one last glance to the Weyrlings, he gives a brisk nod and hasty salute and limps his way back through the mud to the barracks and likely the privacy and quiet of his offices.

M'icha whispers "Two holderbred Weyrlings, eh? Do that purposely or you figure they'd be best and most sympathetic to Gold Hill? Eh, regardless… just watch yer back, alright? I don't trust them over there… though D'ani is a sensible man. Oldest too. Eirwyn — well now, I'm a might bit worried about her. You know her past, right? Ah well. Trust you though. Just keep 'em from trouble, alright? Good luck and clear skies." to Kimmila.

D'ani's mouth opens halfway through Kimmila's report and though he's attentive, he does note the flask the Weyrlingmaster holds, though there's neither judgment nor speculation as the man takes a nip. "Yes Sir," he says gravely about listening to Kimmila. Several expressions chase one another across his face as the wingsecond speaks, the last of which is bemusement of a somber cast. When it's clear she's finished, Oooh ooh! He has one! He raises his hand, then quietly asks, "We're going back where they insulted you to check up on them and-" he lifts his finger to circle it to indicate the group, "they'll see right through our 'visit', which, I assume won't sit well with them. And he may dish out more of the same insults he gave you last time. Right?" His dark eyes catch Kimmila's while his face remains neutral, his posture, though, is alert. Dremkoth is attuned to this conversation, eyes bright as one of them peers over D'ani's shoulder.

Eirwyn listens quietly as Kimmila gives the report on Gold Hill and nods slowly, "Some holds can be proud and feel untouchable even if there is danger. If the weyr has offered and been turned down…won't they just resent us more if we try to…insist on helping?" She looks up to the weyrlingmaster as he gives his instructions then back to Kimmila and finally just nods. There is a thoughtful look on her features as she listens to the rest of the instructions, canting her head as D'ani speaks, a slight nod of agreement there.

Kimmila turns to watch D'ani, listening to his question, and her grin is a bit crooked and almost feral. Her voice, though, is almost bland. "Weyrlings always tour the holds. They'd be insulted if we /didn't/ go visit." She pauses. "And, yes, they'll probably be insulted that we /are/ visiting, too. But it has to be done. I would not be surprised at all if Unevyr tried to get in a few digs." She shrugs and looks over to Eirwyn, nodding a bit. "Yes, which is why we're not insisting on anything. Personally, I wish I could make them post guards. But I - we - can't. We're visiting so the Hold can see and meet some of the new Weyrlings. It's tradition, all Weyrlings take tours of the Fortian holdings so the holds can see the new riders. Riders they might never see again unless they're stranded in a snow storm, or need help with something. Any more questions?" she asks, turning towards Varmiroth, but waiting to see if they're ready or if there's more to say before she mounts.

At that deceptively bland-toned answer, D'ani's mouth, which was set in a serious line splits into a wide smirk. "Excellent! Let's not leave them out then." That's all he's got to say about the matter. "Do we have permission to tour (hear the air quotes in that?) out-of-the-way corners and byways while we're there?" Because if a hold is going to act suspicious in his book, they deserve to be spied- errrr have them practice their budding manners and diplomacy upon. Dremkoth rumbles, even nudging at his lifemate to get him moving, since he's grabbed the flight straps but hasn't climbed up yet.

Eirwyn nods to Kimmila's response before moving back to Xucieth and patting her shoulder before stepping up on a forelimb to make the climb up to her back. Whatever reservations Eirwyn might have, her green seems quite clear of. The green is practically prancing about waiting for the order to take off. She only settles for the few moments it takes for Eirwyn to mount up before she is pacing again, wings flaring up in preparation of flight.At D'ani's question, Eirwyn looks over sharply to him and shakes her head, "I wonder /why/ they distrust riders so much at the hold." She says with a touch of sarcasm in her voice before looking to Kimmila her mouth set in a thin line.

Kimmila grins crookedly at D'ani, and shrugs. "We'll play it by ear," is her wise answer as she climbs up into Varmiroth's straps and buckles in. "Distrust?" she asks, catching Eirwyn's comment. "I wouldn't say they distrust us so much as are making a poor decision. Their argument is that guards cost them marks - profit lost - when there's no active threat. I understand that, but still think there /is/ an active threat." Then she gives the signal to take off, starting the long flight towards Gold Hill, which is nestled in a valley to the south, over the forests.


Fort Region — Gold Hill Hold


D'ani nods. Yes, play it by ear is likely the wisest course and with that, he pulls himself up the bronze's shoulder and throws a leg astride, settles and clips himself in. With a snicker for Eirwyn's so serious expression, he winks. "The fun will be in responding oh so politely to their insults, yeah?" They will because they've been trained to but double entendre can be so much fun delivered with wide-eyed innocent respect. Not that he's done it since he was a hold brat back at Maiona to the other holder's daughters that were foisted on him in the guise of 'visiting your Da' but, he remembers the handy skill well. Dremkoth is the last to reach formation, but once there, his wings do the rest, pleased to be in the bright skies and flying.

Eirwyn buckles in as the orders are given to rise, her green barely given her the chance to finish buckling up before she launches in the air. «This will be fun. We can show them why they need guards!» In her mind she shows images of swooping down on the hold and scattering people in fearful running. It will be a fun game, really it will. The green beats her wings strongly in the air, eager to be off to have her fun. Eirwyn's thoughts on the matter are kept between her and her lifemate, but by halfway to the target, Xucieth is no longer sending images of scattering holders.

Varmiroth leads the way south, over the dense forests, keeping up a steady pace so the young dragons can stretch their wings without overtaxing them. Over mountain ranges and valleys, finally the blue crests the last range before he drops down into the valley where Gold Hill Hold is, nestled up against the mountains from which its rich veins of minerals and gems are extracted. The Hold is busy, being mid morning, with people moving about on their various tasks. Varmiroth circles once and then lands in the clearing set aside for the purpose of dragons and trader wagons, sinking a bit in the mud before he crouches to let Kimmila dismount. She does so carefully, squaring her shoulders and looking around. "I sent word ahead that we would be here," she says when the Weyrlings join her. "Let's see how we're received, that'll be our first clue to their attitudes."

Dremkoth's wings beatbeatglide beatbeatglide in a steady rhythm, his thoughts ethereal quicksilver of neon across his night skies to touch the Varmiroth and Xucieth in happy abandon of this rock formation and that shimmer of lake there and how, come summer, they will have to plunge from on high into it and see how deep it is and oh, what will this Gold Hill be like? Nothing troubles him - this is intriguing adventure to go see how those people live. He circles wider, partly to give the two smaller dragons time to land first and partly so he can come in at a more gentle angle and backwing a few beats less. He still sends mud droplets flying, but hopefully not quite as many as he would have. D'ani slides down slowly, hanging onto the flight straps to keep from hitting the mud too hard. He makes a face at his boots and then squelches over to stand a little behind and to the left of Kimmila. "With all the stone on Pern, I often wonder why more of it isn't put to use," he grumbles under his breath.

Kimmila glances back at D'ani, and her grin is crooked. "Marks, my dear bronzeling. It all comes down to cost. Let's go." And she leads them towards the courtyard, and through it into the main hold. Inside, things are obviously opulent. Thin fabrics (not the practical, thick ones) adorn the walls and floor, and the furniture is slender rather than sturdy. Beautiful, yes, but oddly out of place in a Fortian hold that is more used to thick wool and rustic furniture. And, because of it, the hold is chilly despite the fires in the hearths of the rooms that they can see from this main room - and the hearth fire here, as well. Looking around, Kimmila frowns, noting a few new purchases that she did not notice the last time she was here. Outside, Varmiroth rumbles softly and reaches out to the other dragons. « Mine says they spend enough marks on furniture to easily staff a few guards. »

Indeed, Gold Hill Hold is nothing like Fort Hold and the decor is only the beginning. Where their arrival in the larger and major hold was greeted with curiosity and open welcomeness, there's a strange sort of quiet to this minor hold. Oh, there are folk milling about but no one seems to approach the visiting riders and if anyone does glance their way, it's made in quick and darting looks. Nervous, almost. Reserved. Was it always like this? And certainly no greetings! In fact, several minutes will pass before someone /does/ finally approach them and it's only just a lone Steward, harried looking and the first to finally extend some form of greeting to the "guests". "Our apologies," he'll murmur once formalities are exchanged. He seems a nice enough man, though something is "off" about him. His smile is a tad force, his hands tend to chafe nervously together and his gaze will dart from time to time over his shoulder before he catches himself and focuses back on Kimmila or the Weyrlings. "It has been a busy morning. Your flight was well, I hope? If you follow me, we have some refreshments in one of the meeting rooms…" The Steward will half bow, half gesture before leading the way. No great hall? "So this visit is strictly pleasure, I take it?" he will ask at large as they walk along, seemingly trying to broach some idle chit chat as they pass through the chilly corridors.

D'ani would gladly share a few of his own marks, by the look on his face as he looks askance at the muddy landing space. His greeting to the steward is proper, a slight bow that is just a bit more than a nod of his head accompanied by a polite smile. Well, Maiona didn't have a great hall, so D'ani doesn't seem surprised that this mining hold might not have one. However, he is surprised, by the manner of the people, hanging back the way they do. As he follows the Kimmila and the steward, he idly notes the opulence, if it could be called that. He keeps his opinion to himself on the quality of the furnishings, instead nodding about their flight, deferring to Kimmila to make her replies to that small talk of the steward's. Outside, Dremkoth snorts audibly to something. « Mine says they could use less pretty and more courtyard. »

Xucieth is careful to set down as close to the edge of the mud as possible and does so just long enough for Eirwyn to dismount. «How dare they leave a mudpit to land in as if we were beasts!» She rumbles to her fellow dragons as she removes herself to a drier area to settle and watch over the hold. Eirwyn stamps off her boots as she makes her way out of the squelching mess. As they enter the hold Eirwyn's stony grey eyes scan the room, a serious look to her features. Her eyes unfocus as she walks along. «Mine says her parents would never allow this. Useless frippery over function. It is cheaper to warm a hold if you have thicker wall hangings. Sturdy furniture lasts longer. This is wasteful!» However independent her hold might have been, well the behavior they have seen so far is clearly having an effect on Eirwyn. Furrowed brows arch over her eyes as she watches the people moving about this way and that.

Kimmila waits with a hunter's patience, knowing the longer they are left waiting the more information they themselves gather. It speaks volumes. When the Steward finally arrives, Kimmila inclines her head in reply and follows afterward with long strides. At his question, she hides a smirk (I told you so, D'ani) and nods. "The Weyrlings always tour the holds, and learn their between points," she says, her voice rather reassuring as they are led into the meeting room. More opulence here, and Kimmila makes a show of trying to wipe off her boots before stepping onto the woven silk rug. Whoops, was that a smudge? Well she tried. Outside, Varmiroth rumbles softly. « Mine completely agrees. »

Opulence everywhere and not a single guard. Fancy furniture, fancy fixtures and /some/ folk have fancy clothes. Others… not so much. Shame they aren't making themselves more visible or the Weyrlings may see a rather disturbing unbalance among the holders. As they are led in further however, it's obvious that while things /look/ orderly, there are telltale signs of disorder too. Dust here, cobwebs there, hasty (cover up) repair over there. Hmm. But not every Hold will be up to perfection, right? The Steward seems oblivious to either D'ani or Eirwyn's response or opinions, as they've kept to themselves and their greetings were polite enough not to get the man suspicious or defensive. Leading them into the room, he lingers by the doorway and just as promised, there is /ample/ food and refreshment there — enough to feed FAR more than just a mere three. Inclining his head again, the Steward gestures to indicate the room and the feast with one sweep of his hand. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. Again, we welcome you to Gold Hill. Lord Unvar and Lady Lleynn I'm afraid could not make it back in time for your visit, but their son, Unevyr, shall be with you shortly." Oh no. The heir? And why does he tell them this news /now/, when they are more or less trapped in a room with the one exit currently blocked by the Steward himself? In fact, he's already stepping back with a hand on the door, intent on pulling it shut with his retreat. "If you excuse me, I have some business to attend." And then he's gone, leaving them to… wait? For that seems the whole purpose. As minutes drag on and on.

Uh huh, they're totally expected, that's why this odd reception, getting stranger by the minute is being played out. As they cross the courtyard to the front door, D'ani tries - unsuccessfully - to stamp the worst of the mud from his boots. Once inside, he veers slightly to keep to the bare floor, but that only works until they enter the meeting room. He steps in with a grimace for that poor carpet. It's pretty obvious the steward can't wait to get away and D'ani blinks at him as he backs out after dropping the news that the Lord and Lady won't be there. Dark eyes turn to that sumptuous table, then turn to Eirwyn and Kimmila. "Well," he drawls, dryly amused "They may not be lacking in luxuries, but they certainly are sparse on manners. At Maiona a guest is- was never dumped in a room and left." Outside, Dremkoth drops his head to precede him snake-like as he creeps through the mud and towards that paved courtyard. What? He can't sully his straps by lying on his belly in the mud and he's not going to stand the entire time they're in the hold. He manages to squuuuuuueeeeeeeze in, oops! His tail, curled about the perimeter, actually prevents doors that would ordinarily open into the courtyard from doing so and he shimmy-shifts - there! His butt actually ends up on the first few stairs, his paws and head resting right short of them and he completely fills the space as he flops down. Ahhh! So you're late, Unevyr? Hope you're not outside because you're going to have to walk OVER him to get back inside.

Eirwyn moves into the room with the other riders, her gaze taking as much in as they can. When finally they are left alone she looks quickly to D'ani and Kimmila, "This isn't right. Maybe they maintain holds different in the north then down south, but all that oppulance…is a distraction I reckon. This place is a mess if you know what to look for. My mother may not think the best of the riders, but she ever treated them with respect when they came a visiting officially like this." Eirwyn says says to the others. It seems her earlier defence of the hold has melted away as she saw the reality. Xucieth has moved closer to the hold, content to find a bit of dry area to rest on as the riders go about their business. «Please do talk to them about the dragon field. It is definately not up to standards. At least they offered you food!»

Kimmila sits down in one of the chairs and stares at the food, though she doesn't take any of it. Leaning back a bit, she rests her hands on her belly and glances at D'ani. "That's how they do things here," she murmurs with a small 'what can you do?' shrug. Glancing then at Eirwyn, the bluerider nods. "I know it's not. Now you see the position we're in." When Dremkoth wiggles his way into the courtyard, Varmiroth watches, head tilted a bit. Then, with an amused rumble, he begins dragging his talons through the mud, effectively 'sketching' the scene in the very dirt that the bronze was avoiding.

It probably would have been a stroke of luck and very much in the Fortian riders favor if Dremkoth's choice of lounging spot did, in fact, bar Unevyr from entering. Sadly, the heir IS within the hold — somewhere — and so they will not escape so easily. Though undoubtedly the young bronze is causing a few others to have to find an alternative route. More time passes and just as one may think they've been "forgotten" here in the room, the door opens… And it's the Steward again. He steps through, looking a little more nervous than before in the fact that he now licks his lips before speaking and his eyes focus solely on one particular bluerider. "Wingrider Kimmila?" he calls, inclining his head again politely and respectfully. "Would you mind stepping out with me for a moment? I apologize again for the wait. Unevyr should be by shortly. But if I could just borrow some of your time? The Weyrlings are welcome to wait here." And somehow it's said as though they won't have much of a choice. If the situation wasn't suspicious before, it certainly may seem so now. Or is it just all coincidence?

Harmony was here all the time — ignore the puppet master just waking up. Up until this moment, she's born this trip in a mixture of bored interest. The teenager's affectation of boredom while actually being interested in what's going on. Namely what little shiny trinkets this Hold may have. She slants a look at Excuse Maker, and taps one perfectly manicured nail (hey, now that Scrat's older, this is totally an option) against a trinket. "Mmmmhmmm," she makes a dubious sound under her breath all the while eyeballing the doorway. What? Maybe she's gonna tunnel under it like her dragon likes to try to do. Though, Crosenturath is getting restless. This may prove to be problematic!

D'ani eye rolls. "That's pretty weird, Kimmila, don't you think?" He shoves his hands in his pockets and wanders the room, skirting the food laden table but not partaking yet. Their host isn't there so that would be just rude. He paces, passing Harmony several times, but foregoes teasing her. He's increasingly restless and he's not finding anything out in here. When the steward comes for Kimmila, he's had it. If she goes, he'll wait then say quietly, "I'm going to take a walk. You girls want to join me?" Out in the courtyard the sound of shattering glass herald's Dremkoth's tail-twitch, followed by a muffled shriek from one of those wedged shut doors. Oops? Oh look, it just happens to be one of the windows to the room they're stuck in. A way out? Dremkoth's bulk fills the courtyard but he won't mind being a stepping stool.

As the Steward returns, Eirwyn starts a bit and looks to his direction arching a brow at his words before she takes a deep breath and steps forward. "Sir, we are here to learn as weyrlings should, such we can not do if were are forbidden from seeing the interactions between riders and holders." She says as she stands up, glancing almost protectively to Kimmila, the other weyrlings and back to the Steward. She is doing her best in that moment to look every inch her height and lady Holder she once was. «Mine is worried, can we swoop the hold now?» Comes Xucieth's mind voice, rising from where she was trying to rest and looking agitated, never a good thing when it comes to the green dragon. A holder comes near her and she even snaps at the air above his head sending him running.

Kimmila arches a brow at the Steward's request, but slowly pushes herself to her feet. Glancing to the Weyrlings, her look is clear - be alert - before she follows the Steward out. And as she goes she turns her body slightly, and the Weyrlings might notice her loosening her dagger in her sheath. Surely it's not /that/ bad? Though those who know the bluerider (or have heard the rumors) must know about her paranoia. Plus those rumors going around that Laris is hiding within Gold Hill… « Mine does not like this, but sees no polite way to refuse, » Varmiroth says, the blue shifting a bit in his chosen place, alert and watching the hold. « So yours need to stay alert, in case this is a bad thing. » Looking at Crosenturath, the older blue roots around until he finds a neat looking stone - flecks of mica and quartz - and rolls it towards the younger dragon. Look, shiny thing. When Dremkoth breaks a window, Varmiroth's head whips around. « What are you doing? »

Not long after Kimmila will leave with the Steward, does their "host" finally make his appearance. Unevyr sweeps in through the door — quite literally. The heir is a tall man, young and in his mid-twenties as far as Turns go. Fair skinned, his brown hair is pulled back, which does little to flatter his features. Heavier set in build, it's clear that this man is all pomp and ego from the start and his clothing tastes border on ridiculous: gaudy and overdone, gold embroidery on rich purples and overall just too much. Never mind the jewelry he wears. His eyes sweep the room, lingering on each Weyrling in turn (and their knots) and the smile that curves his lips never reaches them. It's a smile that would put any seasoned rider or anyone with enough sense on edge. Snake. Snaaaake. "My sincerest apologies for keeping you waiting for so long," he drawls in a voice that appears sincere and yet hints at sarcasm. The heir probably could care less as he closes the door behind him. "Just the three of you?" he asks nonchalantly but barbed, of course. Unchaperoned? Where's your babysitter? "No matter. Let me formally welcome you to Gold Hill Hold, one of Fort's most richest in minerals and precious metals." Cue a slight flaunt of the baubles he wears or perhaps he's simply using a little more flare to pull out one of the oversized chairs, gesturing to it and the others. "Come, sit! Make yourselves comfortable. Enjoy some of the food, there is plenty to have." Stepping back, it's then that Unevyr notices the broken glass or is the chill breeze? His features twitch and twist and that smile falters a little. "Oh. What happened here?" he asks in a tone that is a touch too stiff.

In contrast to Eirwyn's diligence and D'ani's restlessness, Harmony is a cream puff of pink (yes, there is some PINK in her attire somewhere, even if it's just the ribbons that tie off the ends of her braids) confectioner's sugar. "A walk? Are you—" Whatever scathing comment might be coming from pretty pink lips is halted at the same moment Crosenturath is suddenly captured by the shiny thing. Her small body lurches before she gets ahold of herself and settles back into a hunched glower. "Maybe a walk is a good thing," she amends, purposefully stuffing something from the food table into her mouth. Is she egging on her clutch mate? Meeeebbe. To Eirwyn, "Ehhh, /must/ we really know? I can't see myself ever needing to know how to talk to stuffed shirted Holders." Her tones of drawling ennui cut off when the heir comes in. One eyebrow quirks as she watches his movements around the room. Sugar'd sweetness twines through her words, that stings from a patina false sweetness. "You can count! It's a good skill for a Holder to have," so so so earnestly does Harmony say this, barbed words spun like cotton candy from the sweetness, all the while reaching out to pluck something from the table to eye it critically, "But it's too bad your cook is too heavy on the spices. Pity." Totally could be telling the truth or a lie. She lies as easily as the truth, anyway. No one ever said Harmony was gonna be the great diplomat. Crosenturath? SHINY SPARKLY OH MY.

« Nothing… much. » is Dremkoth's hasty reply to Varmiroth, sounding a trifle guilty. « It…slipped. » Yes, because having his tail wedged around a square courtyard and the tip propped against a windowpane is not the most comfortable of places to curl up in. And of course D'ani's restlessness and increasing annoyance is transmitting to the young bronze. "Save your breath," D'ani says to Eirwyn as the steward all but ignores her. He strides over to the window, reaching for the broken panes, his intent to remove the ones left in and squeeze out the window. He never gets that far, of course. He's got a handful of shards when Unevyr enters, is in the process of wriggling another out, which comes out with a SKREET just as the lordling's eyes rest on him. D'ani turns and lounges on the wall calmly. "This? Well, Dremkoth is grateful for the mud-free dragon couch, but he says it's a bit cramped." He pauses a few long beats, then adds a very dry afterthought, "Our apologies." He remains right where he is. "There sure is," he flicks a glance at the table. He's respect itself as he asks, "Wouldn't it be polite for us to wait for the rest of the guests?"

Eirwyn paces as Kimmila is led out and they are left here alone. The broken window and the view of the dragon outside at least settle her a touch, but it is clear she is not content. She looks over to D'ani at the suggestion of a walk and nods, "I am feeling a bit caged in here all of a sudden." Before they can go, the heir walks in and almost automatically Eirwyn gives a bow to the man before she looks him over upon rising. "Eight of us sir." Eirwyn says with a lift of her chin as she glances to the dragon out the window. "Your steward asked to speak to our escort rider." Her voice just bordering on polite holder speak. At the offer of food, Eirwyn glances to the table before shaking her head, "I am afraid I ate before I came out. Thank you for the offer though, next time I will be sure I have an appetite when I visit." There is a cant of her head to his clothing and the frippery hanging, "Your hold has such treasures to behold sir."

Kimmila stays gone, but you can bet when Varmiroth relays the broken window incident, she's trying to worm her way out of whatever diplomatic noose she's gotten herself into. Her blue pads forward, his mind reaching out to firm the link with Dremkoth. « Come out of the courtyard. Fly up to the mountain if you must have a mud free place to rest. » There are plenty of nooks and crags in the mountain face within which the hold's mines criss cross and weave.

Surely that wasn't a tic twitching at Unevyr's one eye at the state of the window and the evidence in D'ani's hands? With a slow inhale, the heir's disposition suddenly shifts again, cool and collected, but again it's all wrong in the way his eyes linger and his false smile hangs frozen on his lips. "Well," he says, joining his hands together and sending the jeweled rings there flashing at the apology. "No matter! Accidents /do/ happen and I'm certain your…" Dart glance to his knot. "Bronze — Dremkoth, is it? — did not intend for it to happen. But perhaps if he took up residence in the mountain side? Far less cramped there." Polite, it seems and yet his eyes seem to say 'and will you /pay/ for those damages, boy?'. Never mind that he and D'ani are likely close in age. His remark on guests are ignored, as Harmony's sweetly barbed words have Unevyr's attention instantly refocusing to the younger teenager. His smile twists again, just as overly sweet to be so obviously faked and sharp, his tone level and yet mocking all in the subtle way it shifts. "My apologies that our cooks have displeased you, my dear," he drawls and effectively takes a few steps closer to Harmony, dramatically sweeping one arm up to rest his hand against his chest in an almost insulting display of sincerity. "But if I must make amends for their shortcoming and uphold our reputation as a gracious host, I'm /certain/ we can find something? A new necklace perhaps? Or a lovely piece with sapphire accent perhaps? I'd hate for you to leave disappointed in Gold Hill's hospitality." Cue another too sweet smile. Did he… just bribe Harmony? Oh you bet he did. Eirwyn is next, Unevyr all but spinning to face the youngest of the group and her compliments do not go unnoticed. They only fuel the fire though and the heir /beams/ and not in a good way. "Why thank you, young lady. Gold Hill prides itself in the "treasures". If any were to take your fancy…" And he simply spreads his hands, as if it's some secret between the two of them. He won't tell? His gaze slides to D'ani then, lips curving almost to a smirk. "There is much Gold Hill can offer." he adds, meaning he hasn't forgotten the bronze weyrling too. What's his price? "Ahh, so you are not alone then in your visit? Wingrider, I presume?" Unevyr has come to stand by the head of the table now, his back to the door as he intends to keep his eye on all three Weyrlings if he can. "It's hard to say when your… escort, will be available again. So if none of you have an appetite, I suppose we can get down to business. You /are/ here to tour this prosperous Hold, after all." And though he chuckles, it falls awfully flat. Suspicious, for certain and who knows if he ever did intend to let them into the actual hold proper.

Spoiled enough to have flights of fancy of being a kept woman have Harmony's teen-girl eyes bulging. It's not hard to imagine dancing jewels and silky fripperies running like a ticker tape behind eyes of muted beryl, shadows shifting in eyes that seem to get rounder. His insulting sincerity is swept away by the one thing that might sometimes get a girl who's been spoiled her entire life: items of luxury. "A sapphire necklace?" She drops the piece of food she'd picked up like an after thought. Spoiled she may be, but there's a calculation to the girl that knows how to wheedle a deal — comes with the territory of getting bigger and better things out of daddy. "It'd have to be big. I'd hate to leave disappointed." To coin his words with a drop of her eyelashes and a slight bite to her lip. "Maybe with diamonds around the neck…" Eirwyn and D'ani are left with the diplomacy stuff. Harmony looks like she's fallen into the best outdoor market in one little snakey man. But. Well, Harmony's not the /sharpest/ stick in the box. Crosenturath, however, is not so easily swayed not by shiny rock nor by Harmony's spinning head — and might be a tad more intelligent than his rider, shamefully — and gets it into his head to see the /Hold/ as something to play with. Jiggly-butt wiggles as he gives a sneaky look to the right, then to the left then to the wall that holds in the courtyard. With a starting jump, he starts digging at the wall. STONE, STONE, STONE, STONE…

"Of course he didn't," D'ani replies in nearly the same cloying tone Unevyr uses. "Had the landing field been adequate, I'm sure he wouldn't have wandered." Implying the lack is on the Hold's head, of course and he all but ignores the mention of the cliff perch. He manages not to roll his eyes at Eirwyn's overdone praise of the hold, keeping his expression pleasant. "Harmony." D'ani says it warningly. As if he could snap her out of a trance or something. "We'd be pleased to be shown your hold," he says. Not that it is his hold yet, but subtle flattery (or is that a gibe?) might just move the self-important man. Out in the courtyard, Dremkoth whuffs a sigh, acquiescing to Varmiroth's firmness. He begins shifting and wriggling to get to his feet. HRRRRRMMMPH! UUUUMNNNFF!!! The sounds of dragon wedged in small place emanates through that broken window. AAAAUURRRGHHHGLE!! …………sigh………. « Uh oh. » Silence. « Varmiroth? » Dremkoth's contact is meekly subdued. « I'm stuck. » That's when Crosenturath jumps at the wall. Which vibrates. Oh happy day! There's HOPE. « It's in HERE, Crosenturath! » Not so good?

Eirwyn might be the youngest but she was raised the daughter of a Lady Holder and has visited a few holds and weyrs over the years. At least in the Southern Lands. She watches the heir move around the room, offering Harmony a gift then his attention turns to her and she shakes her head, "I fear as a weyrling, I have little need for anything so fancy but of such little substance. Fine silks and delicate furnishings would not last long in a weyr I am afraid." She tilts her head ever so politely to him before she nods to the offer of a walk. "I would so like to see this hold. I am from the south and have not yet had the chance to see how the Northern holds compare. Xucieth is snaking around the hold, gleefully giving fright to anyone who might happen her path. «These humans squeel so loudly, how delightful.» At least she hasn't actually touched anything , but she has put on a show for a few she has seen. Snapping at the air above their heads, flaring her wings. «The mountain crags are far too pointy to relax on Varmiroth, when mine is stuck inside this dirty hold» There is a glance to the walls as she feels the vibrations.

Varmitoth is a sweet, innocent, naieve dragon. Most of the time. He's content with doodling and chasing clouds, and turning in circles to find /just/ the right spot to lay down in a sunbeam. But everyone has their limits. And Varmiroth's has been crossed. Small though he may be, and even with his struggles to project over distances, the link his mind sends out to the Weyrling dragons is strong and very firm. « Stop, » he says, his voice commanding in a way they've never heard before. Added in, perhaps, is some of Kimmila's own irritation at how quickly this situation has degraded. Drawing himself up, Varmiroth walks forward to try and physically nudge Crosenturath away from the wall, putting his body between digging blue and stone. « Stop, » he repeats firmly, if his first command was not heeded. « Dremkoth, hold still, I will get you free without destroying the entire sharding hold. » Did he just swear? You betcha. « Xucieth, get up to the mountain, /now/. We do NOT chase Holders. For Faranth's sake, have you three learned nothing?! » Well and truly irritated, the blue stomps over towards Dremkoth to begin helping the bronze get free. And inside, another tempest of fury is building, as Kimmila bangs her way into the room, the door opening with a resounding thud as it rebounds against the wall. "Sit," she says, her voice cold as she takes in the window, the Weyrlings, and then settles onto Unevyr. But to the Weyrlings first. "Control. Your. Dragons." Simple, firm, and very cold. And then, she rounds on Unevyr and steps right up to him, well within his personal space, and takes a hold of his tunic, the fine fabric crumpling in her fist. "Did I just hear you right?" she asks, her voice low and now seething with insulted anger. "Did I just hear you try to /bribe/ my Weyrlings?" And Harmony /take/ the bribe?

Unevyr is no fool — well, not in some senses. Harmony's response all but has her snared /exactly/ where the heir wants her and his eyes flash triumphantly. So easily done! And that only feeds his ego, that he could have the young blue weyrling caught so willingly. Her wheedling is met with another too sweet smile as he seems to consider her offer, fingers coming to toy with the rings on one hand and if he just so /happens/ to flash the rather gaudily sized gemstones there well, that's just more coincidence, isn't it? "Of course, of course! Only the /best/ for one of Fort's newest riders. We can find a piece that would make you the envy of the other riders. In other Weyrs, even!" he elaborates with enough flare to make most gag at his overacting but perhaps pushing /just/ enough with Harmony to effectively sway her. They can't be all bad right? What's the harm in a "little" gift? D'ani's cloying tone and reply is met by a rather level look from Unevyr and his smile (false as it is) falters again before sticking back into place. His reply is stalled though at the sounds coming through the broken window and the heir's features fall into his first true emotion: uncertainty. His eyes flick from window to Weyrling and it takes obvious control for him to hold back his tongue. "Is there something wrong with Dremkoth?" he asks, though with notable lack of concern and likely unaware of the antics of either Xucieth or Crosenturath — for now. Likely he will hear those reports much later.
Eirwyn seems to be the only Weyrling spared, save for a long and lingering look from Unevyr when she rejects his offer. Pity, perhaps he had hoped her youth would be her weak spot, but he hides his disappointment well enough behind another one of his false smiles as he clasps his hands together again. "Forgive me, I sometimes forget that there is such a difference between living arrangements. I'm sure your weyrs are adequately furnished for your needs." the heir drawls, affecting innocent ignorance that could be farther from the truth. At her compliments again though, he begins to be lulled, ego properly fed by such simple trivialities. "Ahh, for that I can assure you you /will/ see more of Gold Hill Hold. We are very proud and I am certain you will be awed by our small but prosperous Northern Hold." Clearly /far/ better than any Southern Hold! Puffed up now like an overstuffed wherry, Unevyr was likely to continue digging his claws in (well, with Harmony at least), but that is abruptly ended as the door bangs open and he whirls around in a swirl of gaudy fabrics, features twisting first into annoyance and then surprise that tapers into a cold and heavy frown. /You/ again — that much his eyes speak as he fixes his gaze on Kimmila. His fair complextion begins to splotch with red as she all but commands the Weyrlings to sit.
"What is the meaning of this interruption? Control their dragons?" Uh oh. "What has been going on?" Now his gaze slides, narrowed, to D'ani and that broken window. "Am I being played a fool? What havoc have you wreaked upon us now under some /guise/ of a visit?" So much for controlling his tongue. As Kimmila steps right up into his personal space, Unevyr blanches a little, fearful at first until she takes a hold of his tunic and her seething and insulted words only pique his own anger. "You will unhand me, /Wingrider/!" he says in a curt and blunt tone, stressing her rank with an almost venomous sarcasm. Reaching out, he will attempt to grab her by the upper arms and forcibly push her back as he sweeps from her reach with an affronted and very much insulted air. Chin lifting, he dons a rather injured look to him, looking down at her from under heavily knitted brows. "Bribe /Fort's/ Weyrlings you mean? I see no Weyrlingmaster's knot on your shoulder. And the nerve! To accuse me of such crimes!" He sniffs, lips pressed into a firm and disgusted line.

D'ani's back is to the door when Kimmila enters. He's been focused on that courtyard and Dremkoth since the dragon started to wriggle. The wingsecond gets a bare nod; he's communicating with the bronze and keeping the bronze from flailing even as Varmiroth comes to his aid. He's free in a matter of moments, having help from two minds that can see better from their perspective that if he shifts juuust so and exhales at the same time… there! The young bronze manages to ease out the way he came in, leaving behind only the broken window as collateral damage. Sheepish, Dremkoth leaps up and flaps to the lowest of the crags and curls around it, propping his head on the tip where he can easily keep an eye on the scene below. D'ani turns back to the room as soon as Dremkoth is free. Silently he heads for the table. Now that Kimmila has invited him, he'll sit, Unevyr. He skirts the shirt-grabbed lordling, keeping his eyes upon him as he eases past with a barely-there smirk on his mouth. "Not anymore," he replies to Unevyr, adding, "Sorry about that Kimmila," in tones that are genuinely respectful as he turns eyes that are still flashing irritation and concern on her. He's in trouble, he's certain, but he is glad to see her back. He settles into a chair while the man sputters his innocence to Kimmila. "He offered us all gifts, for what I don't know," he says with a nonchalance he is far from feeling, "He was going to give Harmony a sapphire necklace for some reason." Sorry, Harmony.

Eirwyn's words hold the lilt of the southern lady, flattery and refusal at once. Her mother would be so proud, truely. She cants her head to the Heirs polite words at her refusal. She has met many a Lord and Heir and none have quite given her such ill ease as this man and the false words and presentation he shows them. When Kimmila bursts in, she can not hide the relief on her features, even with the reprimand high on her tongue. "I am sorry, Xucieth only meant to explore, she did not intent to frighten. I fear your people are awfully nervous around her." The words are directed to the heir. As Kimmila is grabbed, Eirwyn takes a step forward perhaps to catch the blue rider if she is pushed.

Kimmila glares daggers at Unevyr. "You play yourself the fool," she says, voice sharp and thoughts of diplomacy gone. He does push her back and she was expecting it, bracing herself against her back leg so she doesn't stumble or fall. Though Eirwyn's approach was noticed and appreciated. Putting a firm hand down on the table, Kimmila nods to D'ani at his small report. "I heard," she says, turning back to Unevyr. "Enlighten us, then," she says, her voice cool. "Why were you offering /Fort's/ Weyrlings gifts?" There's a smirk that almost feral and her voice is feigned innocence and hurt. "You never offered me anything but excuses and insults. I'm beginning to think you don't like me much, Unevyr. And we /were/ just here for a visit. The Weyrlings tour the Holds, you know that. Or you should."

Unevyr's face mottles more shades of red among the fair white of his skin, truly incensed by D'ani's rather damning report to Kimmila. But he's sneaky — or tries to be — and uses the bronze weyrlings words as a shield. A very flimsy one. "Gifts! Just gifts! Can a host not impart gifts to his guests? My motives were innocent!" he proclaims though the narrowed look he shoots D'ani is hardly helping his claim. Eirwyn is subjected to the same look, his temper too flared for him to hold back his growing irritation and anger. "Not many see a dragon in their lifetime. Of course they're nervous!" he says in a firm and flat tone. As if she should have known this! Then things come to a head between the heir and Kimmila, the Weyrlings forgotten in favor for the bluerider. His features twist, mouth curving into a grimace and his eyes darken with anger again. "I offered you only what was /due/, Wingrider. Your manners were lacking and if I remember correctly, you shared your own insults — veiled perhaps but the same. And /not/ just to be, but the very Lord Holder himself. So do not preach to me!" He scoffs then, still playing the role of offended hurt. "Don't mock me! And a tour you /were/ to have, but I've a mind now to revoke that invitation. If this is how Fort Weyr intends to conduct themselves!"

D'ani is seated but a step beyond where Kimmila is standing, so when she takes that step back, he lifts a hand to her back to steady her, not that she needs it, but she is with child and her balance will be a little different. He's not going to get in the way of her dagger and well knows she can handle herself, so he remains seated, the muscles bunching along his jaw the only evidence of him tightening the reins on his rising temper. Oh surprise! He does have one. He shoots Eirwyn a look that is mildly incredulous for apologizing to the officious man but he says nothing. Instead he returns Unevyr's look with a mild skepticism. "Odd to be offered such rich gifts-" a glance towards Harmony, "as a sapphire, diamond necklace and yet not met when we arrived, shuttled into a side room and kept here, and separated from our leader. Then asked what we would like to have of its treasures, I believe he said, anything at all only after she was not here to witness it. Very odd." This is said to Kimmila rather than Unevyr as if he isn't quite accusing the lordling in his own hold. It's when Unevyr demeans Fort's conduct that his handful of glass shards are set carefully on the table, clinking and he rises. Still no self-defense here.

"My Lord Heir, Your hold is unprotected and yet displays its wealth openly and without disgression. In the South we call that an invitation for people that would wish to harm you. You would give us gifts but withhold the gift of safety from your own people. As a holder I do not understand, as a rider I do understand we are duty bound to protect your lands." Eirwyn gives a curtsey to the man, "As for our manners, we are but riders and do not have such courtesy as Lords have." Those familiar with Eirwyn might realize the insults she offers to the man by the final phrase of words. Still she does not sit, but she steps back to the nearest seat. Xucieth has at least stopped 'exploring' and settled with the other dragons.

Kimmila snorts, the sound angry. "Your motives are never innocent," she says, glancing over her shoulder at D'ani's touch and then watching as the bronzeling rises. Eyes snap back to Unevyr, green eyes sparking with anger as she continues to watch him even as Eirwyn speaks. "I have half a mind to revoke Fort protection of this hold," she growls. Does she have that power? Probably not, but she's sleeping with the man who does? "No need to revoke the invitation, we are leaving, and I'd prefer to leave by the door and not the window so if you'll excuse us, please, good sir, so that we may depart from your presence." The sarcasm is laid on thick at the end, using every polite term she knows as a weapon against this man.

Unevyr can only bite his tongue as D'ani continues to so openly speak his opinion under the disguise of a report — to the heir's views anyhow. He knows full well what his motives were but he is too prideful to admit his shady dealings. "Clearly, your lack of experience in such matters have lead to a misunderstanding," he says curtly, leveling the bronze weyrling with another narrowed glance that borders now on distaste. As he rises though, Unevyr leans back a bit, instantly defensive. Which leads to Eirwyn's comments being met with an angry scowl, his previous delight in her praise (if it ever was) forgotten. "You overstep your bounds, Weyrling. Gold Hill /is/ as protected as it needs be. It's folk are safe and secure. Unless… has Fort Weyr withheld information on us again? I know of your grievances with the guards. And we /gave/ our reasons. I will not suffer to be heckled by… by a child, rider or not!" he exclaims, gesturing in a dismissive gesture to Eirwyn as his gaze darts back to Kimmila and his remark was likely meant more for the Wingrider. Unevyr bristles as the blueriders words, sputtering and eyes widening in incredulousness. "How /dare/ you." he says coldly and there's no worry in him barring their way and then he laughs, harsh and high. "You think you have the authority? /Please./" he scoffs, "You're a Wingrider backed by three Weyrlings and your Weyrleader is bound by traditions older than time itself. You cannot threaten us! But go ahead, revoke protection on Gold Hill! Let the lives of the innocents be on /your/ heads then. And you will be certain Lord Unvar will hear of this, as will Lord Laric, the rest of the Holds and Weyrleader. Now get out. All of you! You are no longer welcomed here." Unevyr goes on, his voice rising but it sounds so plaintive and whining. This is not a strong man at all and hauling the door open, he sweeps back out of the room, storming off with no witty remark or sarcasm laden farewell or false politeness. Done is done and Unevyr has made his escape while he can.

"Our manners," D'ani begins with a sharp 'please shut up now' look at Eirwyn (Sorry love. He likes you but right now he doesn't want to give the man any more ammunition to sully Fort Weyr with - they're going to be in trouble when they return home as it is) "were proper." Implying that Unevyr's were sub par, of course. "We should have been more aware of what our dragons were up to. I myself was unaware Dremkoth had entered your courtyard until his tail broke that window." That's all he'll admit to here, outside the Weyr in front of the contemptuous Unevyr. When his perception to the situation is relegated to inexperience, his step forward is swift, eyes not bothering to hide his sentiment on that, but he says nothing other than to bore holes through the man while he threatens to decry Fort Weyr's reputation publicly. The roar from the pinnacle where Dremkoth resides is all that keeps him from slamming a fist into Unevyr's face, fists that are shoved into his jacket pockets. He'll gladly leave, would probably stalk around the hold despite being kicked out just to thwart that directive, but he's seething and this would not be the time for a meet and greet. He goes when Kimmila does, this time not bothering to worry what his muddy boots walk on.

Coming from a rather militant hold as holds go, Eirwyn has clearing found this hold and heir wonting. "You would damn us for not protecting your hold when you do not bother with the most basic protections? Eirwyn responds when perhaps she might better keep her mouth shut, but it is clear she can no longer sugar coat her words. No doubt Xucieth's spicy personality has influenced her in this as well. As she notices D'ani's look she drops her gaze to the floor for a moment, when she looks up again her jaw is tight as if she is holding back her words and instead of standing there she stalks out the door not waiting for the others. If she is to be silent, she cannot remain.

Kimmila growls low and furious at Unevyr's insults, taking two long strides after the man as if she's going to chase him down and…who knows what. But she stops herself, hands clenched and clearly struggling with her desires to go pummel the man. "Their lives are on YOUR heads, Unevyr! YOU are their heir and it is YOUR responsibility to post some damn guards!" Oh, /please/ turn around and argue with her, so she can punch him in the face. Outside, Varmiroth rumbles in alarm, wings flaring and tail lashing. Hauling back on her temper, Kimmila reaches out to actually try and grab D'ani's arm - though to restrain him or to silently request that he keep /her/ back, is unclear, as her jerking steps carry her after Eirwyn towards the courtyard.

Don't mind Harmony here. She's just been watching the drama unfold with a slightly stupid look on her face. Crosenturath /did/ heed the elder blue's command to stop digging, but let's face it. That's only going to work for so long. The Hold's wall has some pretty shiny rocks — or wait. Are those /gems/ embedded in their wall? Such a display! Or it could be the the light. Scrat decides to poke a talon at the shiny thing just to make sure. Sneaky-like so maybe he flies under Varmiroth's radar. Meanwhile, as everyone starts their exodus, Harmony snatches another puffed pastry and is totally at the back of this bus, going, "Wait. We're leaving? What about my necklace?" Maybe all the drama just hasn't snuck in yet.

For a man his size, Unevyr can move fast and sadly Kimmila will not get her wish for the heir is gone. In his stead comes the harried looking Steward, his features flushed with his rush to intercept the Fortian riders before they're too far outside in the courtyard. Slightly breathless, he begins to stammer and stumble over apologies to the Wingrider to start, but his darting glance obviously includes the Weyrlings as well. At least he's a man with sense? Though his nervous behavior indicates he's likely /not/ supposed to be there. "I am truly sorry. Do not look so ill on Gold Hill. The heir… he has /much/ to learn I'm afraid and should not have behaved so. I will put in good word to Lord Unvar." But it may just fall on deaf ears. "Clear skies and safe flight," he will finish hastily, with another awkward bob of his head in farewell. Before any of them are liable to get in a response in edgewise, the Steward is gone, hastening back the way he came and tossing furtive glances over his shoulder before disappearing again.

D'ani sighs inwardly as Eirwyn stalks out. He can't really blame her and he'll make sure to talk to her later when he cools off. For now though, he needs to concentrate on not doing any more damage than that broken window. When Kimmila hauls on his arm, he nods imperceptibly and falls in behind her, stepping to allow Harmony to pass when she speaks. The puff pastry gets a sour look. "Are you sure that's not poisoned?" She ate their food, how's she feeling? The necklace question is what begins to restore his sense of humor and he manages a rusty chuckle. "Maybe he'll send it later?" While walking out he's mentally both soothing and restraining Dremkoth from launching himself from that pinnacle and returning to the courtyard as the bronze would like to do, so he says nothing in response to the steward, grimacing in sympathy as the man hurries away.

Kimmila shoots a look at Harmony that's both incredulous and angry. "Damn that necklace," she snaps. "Get your dragon away from that wall and back to the landing field," she says, her voice firm as Varmiroth rumbles sternly to Crosenturath once more. The Steward is eyed, the bluerider just shaking her head. "You should find another Hold to Steward for," she says, lowly spoken. Out through the Hold she goes, until they reach their dragons. "Mount up," she says, her emotions difficult to read. "We're flying straight home. Th'ero will be waiting." Uh-oh? It's the Weyrling equivalent of 'just wait until your father hears about this', because Kimmila does /not/ look happy.

Velokraeth senses that Varmiroth's thoughts stretch the distance and there is a faint glimmer of 'hey, over here' as he tries to bridge that gap.

"Poisoned? Would they really?" Harmony defiantly stuffs that puffed pastry into her mouth, reluctantly leaving but yet also eager to continue to watch the drama show unfold. "He better," she mutters, fancies of jewelry and silks and luxury items draining away like someone pulled out the stopper on her bubble bath of a rich life. Lips thin as the weyrling bites back the desire to say something sharp to the full on bluerider, but Crosenturath needs no encouragement for the object of his desire, his entire /reason/ for digging at the wall, is emerging. GLEEFULLY, the icy blue shoots towards Harmony — who looks none too excited to ride her choppy ride, though he's certainly gotten /better/ and will continue to do so in time. In an aside to D'ani, "Maybe that puff pastry wasn't such a good idea afar all…" Hey, it could be poisoned — at least that's what the claim's gonna be when it decides to come back up! "Goody," she mutters — mostly to herself — at Kimmila's words. Hey, she was innocent. Really.

Varmiroth senses that Velokraeth is alert, thank whatever mercyful fate one believes in and the bronze instantly bridges the gap over the distance, easily shouldering most of the burden to keep the bond strong. « Yes, little brother? » he asks in a drawling tone. « Is everything alright? »

Velokraeth senses that Varmiroth is relieved, clinging to the link the bronze provides. His thoughts are rolling, a storm flickering on the horizon of his nighttime thoughts - and it's a big one. « No. We return, and mine is…mine… » He fumbles a bit, perhaps worrysomely. « Mine asks that you meet us when we return. The visit did not go well. »

"Wouldn't suprise me," D'ani replies to Harmony a touch glumly now that his mood is settling more towards 'we are in for it now' than the frustrated anger it had been. So if she feels queasy after her ride home and gets to escape to the infirmary? He certainly will rue the fact that he didn't eat anything from that overloaded table. Dremkoth lands in that soupy field, heavily this time, yellowed eyes losing their red sparks when his lifemate emerges. He splashes to meet D'ani, thrusting his muzzle into his chest in a 'don't ever let them steal you again' gesture. He's comforted, but briefly, as they've been given the command to mount up. When he's situated, the bronze, barks a 'we're leaving, so there' at the silent hold and launches to flap heavily up and join the others in formation for the flight home.

Varmiroth senses that Velokraeth's mind shifts as the situation is explained and Varmiroth does not have to give the full details. Enough is felt and understood through the bond to have the bronzes "hackles" up and his thoughts ripple, gold and crystal, honeyed whites gradually shifting to a rose and then deeper to a dark wine red. « We understand. Mine wishes to know if everyone is well? There are no injuries? » There is a pause and the bronze almost seems to sigh. « Tell us everything. » But he can do it in pictures, if it's easier for the blue. Velokraeth is good at sorting the truths and untruths, so Varmiroth can literally just dump everything on the bronze and he will shoulder it like it was nothing.

Kimmila notes the young dragons' reactions to their rider's returns with a deep frown as she climbs up and Varmiroth takes them aloft. And then the blue sets a steady pace for home. It's not rushed, which probably makes it worse as the flight takes at least half a candlemark. Oh, the tension as they fly back to the weyr and land in the training grounds, Varmiroth settling with a low rumble as he lets his rider dismount. And turning, she looks back to make sure they're all landing with her and not flying off somewhere else. Her anger at least seems to have cooled a bit, but she still looks far from pleased with how that excursion went. "Th'ero will be here shortly," if he's not already approaching, "and I'm sure I'm in for it as much as you guys are. That…almost could not have gone worse."

Velokraeth senses that Varmiroth sends a negative. « No one is hurt. And yes…here… » And he does, dumping everything on the bronze before his memory fails him and he looses bits and pieces. It's all there, from Kimmila's pulled away to what Varmiroth could hear through the broken window of the bribes, and then the final confrontation.

Varmiroth senses that Velokraeth's response is, well… at least Kimmila will know what is coming? The bronze seems almost apologetic as he tries to filter down the anger that is likely most of his rider's. But his mind roils in response to all that Varmiroth shares and his reply is sharp, not towards the blue but the situation. « Of all the stupid, idiotic and foolish things I have seen and heard! » he exclaims, his tone hardly rising but his displeasure clear enough. Does he speak of the Heir or the Weyrlings though?

Poor Harmony's attention is given entirely to the flight, which is erratic at best. Rollercoaster at worst. Crosenturath doesn't seem all that overly concerned — but then he has the attention span of a flea! He's enjoying the flight like there's no tomorrow, while Harmony's puffed pastry… Well. Let's just hope no one's down/wind/ from her ride. Landing, she gives Kimmila a rather green look for the rider's words, though whether or not because of her words or her ride is not entirely obvious, but can't wait to get off of her dragon. Who's jelly end is /quivering/ with some over excited emotion. D'ani, D'ani. He gets a low whine, "Faranth, I think it /was/ poisoned." Typical teen girl response!

Velokraeth senses that Varmiroth is a little apologetic too. « Mine is sorry, » is all he really says, before he has to let the link slip unless Velokraeth grabs tightly to it.

There's a lot to think about on that ride home, isn't there? Unless you're Harmony being jerked about the skies. Though D'ani notes some of the more erratic moves Crosenturath executes, winces now and then for his rider, he's fairly withdrawn in thought the whole way. Dremkoth lands in the training grounds a much calmer dragon for the flight home was quite nice for him. D'ani dismounts with a simple nod to Kimmila; he'll wait, of course he will. Time to face the music! It's not so much dread as it is somber awareness that life outside the bubble that is the Weyrling program is MUCH more complicated than he was prepared for that he awaits Th'ero's arrival with. Both Harmony's complexion and declaration have him sidling a few steps away. He's thoughtfully giving her the space to empty her stomach, should the need arise (pun unintended).

A storm in the form of the Weyrleader is approaching, though it's Velokraeth who arrives first. The stunted, malformed and pale bronze swoops in low once there is space to do so, not even waiting for the last of the Weyrlings to land before he's taking his usual perch on one of the higher ledges. His posture is tense and stiff and he all but snaps his wings tightly to his sides as he lowers himself to his belly, twisted forelegs crossing over each other and his oversized head tilting to look down at the group below in silent observation. But it's not Velokraeth they should be worried about — it's Th'ero and he arrives, brisk, tense strides carrying him and his barely checked temper right into the training complex. Above, the other Weyrlings are arriving now, the last of the groups sent out to other Holds that day and perhaps the more fortunate as they are recalled by Velokraeth. Though now the three from Gold Hill Hold face the aftermath in a semi-public audience. At least it's just their fellow Weyrlings and not the whole Weyr? Th'ero stops once he's standing a few paces in front of them, shoulders back and his whole posture radiating his displeasure and anger. There's no flushed complexion, sputtering or raging exclamations or behaviors like Unevyr. No, the Weyrleader is downright unnerving when pushed (and pushed he is), his features set and unreadable, his eyes cold and narrowed and his voice… too calm. Too quiet. He stares down all three Weyrlings and even Kimmila isn't excepted from his long, searching look before he smirks. "Explain yourselves. Everything. Every single detail, I want to hear it." Jaw tightening, his eyes focus on their first target — D'ani — and the curt nod is his signal. Better start and do it /fast/.

Varmiroth senses that Velokraeth does grip at that bond, tight and almost fiercely. Oh no, you don't! The bronze isn't done yet. « I am sure she is. » he says firmly. « Yours is not wholly at fault here and not where mine's anger lies. »

Kimmila stands still and solid when Th'ero approaches, and if there's any awkwardness at the shifting dynamic from Weyrmate to Wingrider, she doesn't show it. Her brow does arch a tad though when Th'ero asks for D'ani's account of events, but the bluerider simply turns her head to look at the bronzeling. And then to Harmony, her frown deepening. That girl…Kimm just doesn't know about her.

Velokraeth senses that Varmiroth stays below, though the blue does glance up to Velokraeth. « Mine is some at fault. So are they. So was he. It did not go well and mine is worried for the hold. »

D'ani in the hotseat! D'ani in the hotseat! Wait, maybe Harmony shouldn't show her relief too much at the Weyrleader going to the bronzerider for details first. She nibbles on a thumbnail and tries to give her blue a surreptitious nudge when Scrat takes it in his head to try and engulf HIS Harmony against his chilly blue hide. "Not now, not now!" In an effort to distract the blue, she takes her handy acorn — found that first day emerging from the weyrling barracks, and is now soft, worn and petrified — and tosses it far into the distance. Scrat bounds off and Harmony sighs a sigh of relief. Then schools her features into soft, doughy innocence. Nothing to see here. Cue the big eyed blinks and blank looks when her attention is turned back to Th'ero and his interrogations.

D'ani watches the Weyrleader approach, subconsciously measuring his cold control against that of Unevyr's florid and effusive lack. At six feet, he might be almost as tell as Th'ero, but somehow that look manages to make him feel shorter. Nevertheless, he stands straight, spine stiffly erect, chin up and forces himself to meet the steely gaze when he salutes and begins his report, just the facts without his perceptions are recited without emotion. "We were not met when we arrived at Gold Hill. The people were clearly uneasy about our prescience and the steward was nervous and furtive. We were led to a holding room and kept waiting - alone - for quite some time." This seems to bother him the most, apparently, for a dark look flits across his face before he schools it back to neutrality. "The steward required Kimmila to accompany her on some errand we were not privy to." He takes a deep breath, might as well get it over with, "Dremkoth was in the courtyard, he picked up on my annoyance (yes, let's call it that) and concern about Kimmila's whereabouts and his tail lashing broke one of the windows." He tries to read the Weyrleader's expression, fails and adds lowly, "I'm sorry, Sir, I should have been on top of that, but I wasn't." Then he continues with the report, "While Kimmila was gone, the heir Unevyr entered and bade us sit. Then offered, ah… gifts. Expensive gifts. Which," he flickers a warning look at Harmony, "none of us took." Well, she did come away empty-handed, didn't she? "Kimmila returned then and there was a discussion about why he was bribing weyrlings which, as you can imagine, didn't go so well. We left shortly thereafter." Big breath, peek at Kimmila.

Th'ero's gaze is unmoving from D'ani, even when Harmony does about using her tactic to distract Crosenturath and not even sparing a quick look to his own weyrmate standing there. Is he that upset with Kimmila too? It is hard to say, his features still set and unreadable as the bronze weyrling relays his report. Listening, the only change is when the mention of Dremkoth being in the courtyard resulted in a broken window has him frowning heavily, mouth drawing back into a thin and displeased line. That's been confirmed it seems. At the apology, Th'ero lifts a gloved hand and all but waves it off dismissively. "It's a little late for apologies, as the damage has been done." he says flatly, nodding his head briskly to the rest as he absorbs it all. There is no reprimand though, no harsh retaliation or dressing down… which may make things all the more unnerving. His mood does seem to darken and his eyes grow colder, anger barely held at bay as his jaw works silently. That warning look sent to Harmony was not missed either, but he does not round on her quite yet. Instead he gets the same details from Eirwyn before turning on the blueriding Weyrling and her tactic of soft, doughy innocence do nothing to sway Th'ero. If anything, it irks him further. "Anything to add, Harmony?" Doesn't look like she's escaping so easily.

Kimmila nods slightly at D'ani's report, but she does have one thing to add. "Harmony asked for a sapphire necklace with diamonds, Th'ero," she says quietly. "I don't think she's yet ready to leave this weyr and be a representative of Fort." And Harmony's innocent look has her frowning as well, eying the blueling sharply before she looks back at the Weyrleader. "I think all the Weyrlings need more practice with being aware of their surroundings and their lifemates. Dremkoth broke the window, yes, Xucieth was sneaking around scaring holders, and Crosenturath tried to dig through a wall. And it was obviously my mistake to take these three there. I thought…well. I did not think it would go as poorly as it did. I should not have allowed myself to become separated from them and I said some…more…things to the heir that I…" Regret? No. "Should not have said."

This is the part where Kouzevelth has snuck closer to her in-trouble siblings, curious about what's going on. She doesn't well keep her curiosity to herself; its presence is broadcast to every dragon in the area, and there's a slight edge of force; a /demand/ to tell her what has occurred pressed on the dragons of her own age. Even Velokraeth, while not on the receiving end of any attempt at queenly force, is getting barraged with /curious/. Inri steps up to the group more cautiously, slowly — she appears almost afraid to speak when she finally forces out, "What's wrong? None of my business?"

"Nope," Harmony chimes up to the Weyrleader's question before Kimmila has her own say. She holds a finger up in correction, "I did not /ask/ for a necklace. The Holder-brat /offered/ me a necklace, which I accepted because why not. I knew I wasn't getting a necklace, but might as well make him think I'd take it. Of course, one must up the ante of such gifts. Who knows what might come of it." If peeps are gonna tattle, they can get the tattling right! D'ani — totally gets a beaming look from Harmony. He tried! He really did. She shrugs, "That's all really. I ate some stuff. A window broke, and uh, Kimmila came in screaming." Two can tattle! As to the controlling of her dragon, well, the blue weyrling's lips thin as she presses them together. Hey, Scrat's a work in progress. Inri's arrival turns Harmony's attention, patently: curious.

Kimmila speaking his name has Th'ero turning his head sharply towards her, frowning at what she implies and just as Harmony chimes in. Scowling, he refocuses on the Weyrling, one hand resting at his side and the other on the hilt of the sword he's rarely without when he's out and about. There is a creak of leather though as his hand suddenly tightens around it and the other balls itself into a fist. His shoulders stiffen too and his stance is just so rigid and tense. "Unevyr is a /heir/ to a minor hold, no mere Holder-brat, Harmony and vastly outranks you." he corrects tersely, but then he has to bite his tongue and grit his teeth to avoid verbally lashing out and dressing her down in front of everyone. Mad as though the Weyrleader is, he's not about to drag them all over hot coals where everyone can see or hear. That will come later, in his or the Weyrlingmaster's office. Thought this was going to be the worst of it? Hardly. Th'ero's eyes flash though, lingering on Harmony with such a narrowed look that his displeasure needs no words. "I see." he says coolly.
Kimmila is — finally — focused on next and his chin tilts up a bit as he seems to consider her words as she reports her half along with her opinion on the Weyrling's behavior and her own details on her behavior. "Poorly? That is an understatement." he says flatly and the first hints of anger lacing his tone as his gaze moves to include all under it. "It would seem M'icha and I sorely misjudged the readiness of some of you in facing political visits beyond the Weyr." Th'ero begins, speaking slowly and in a voice that is still far too controlled. He pauses only because he spots Inri approaching then, but does not send her away. He does gesture for her to stay where she is though and then he resumes, pacing now in front of the trio of Weyrlings and Kimmila. "And I cannot even /begin/ to explain my disappointment in this mess. On your conduct and behavior, your lack of control and common sense! Unevyr is not an easy man to deal with, Gold Hill Hold is not the most welcoming but /never/ would I have expected THIS, as a result of what should have been a routine visit and tour." Th'ero stills again and after another brief pause, brings down his decision. "The three of you are grounded for the rest of the sevenday. M'icha will see to it that you LEARN this time how to control your dragons and the only flight you are permitted is strictly for drills. No sweeps, no patrols." He fixes them all with another long, hard look. "Understood? And if I hear of no improvement, see no improvement… You /will/ be held back from Betweening. You've been warned." Now don't let him down. Th'ero dismisses them then with a swift gesture of his hand. No doubt M'icha is waiting to tear into them too, somewhere inside the barracks.

Screaming! Hahaaaa! No, D'ani isn't going to laugh at Harmony's interpretation of Kimmila's displeasure… he isn't going to… isn't going to- He laughs. Then coughs. It's not funny, really. Perhaps it's the release of pent-up tension. His mouth firms at Th'ero's waving off his apology and he nods curtly. "Nevertheless, you have it, Sir." Unconcern in the wake of the chaos of their visit would hardly be fitting, would it? Kimmila's summary and judgment are borne without argument as is the Weyrleader's. They're right, after all they DO need more practice. "Hold visit that went south," he answers Inri readily but saves the details for later. Are they allowed ale yet? He could reaaaally use one after all this. Yeahno, he couldn't summarize the shortcomings of others when his own looms so large in his eyes, even though he nods back to Harmony's beaming thanks. "Sir, not to make excuses, but I learned an awful lot today in a situation that was hardly the norm for a hold visit. Kimmila's correct, we aren't ready, but the in-field training of this unusual situation was valuable." They could have done who knows what to Kimmila or those bribes might've been accepted by another group and the Weyr none the wiser. But he knows better than to argue, the bottom line is, they're right. He's upset with himself also. He's still rigidly at attention when the dismissal comes, saluting and turning to attend Dremkoth and face M'icha.

Kimmila is not dismissed though, as she stares at her Weyrmate with a frown. The Weyrlings, for the moment, are ignored. Though she does make a mental note to speak with D'ani later. "And my punishment?" she asks quickly of Th'ero, before the Weyrlings have time to leave. Clearly she feels responsible as well (and perhaps it's her own pride or her irritation with the rumors that she gets special treatment) but she wants her punishment now, and known. Sorry, Th'ero? Bring on the awkward. Though as long as he doesn't say her punishment is a spanking, they should be all right.

Inri wasn't dismissed, either, as far as she's aware — it's the three of /them/, the other weyrlings, who were obviously dismissed. Th'ero had gestured at her not to move. And so, as a result, Inri doesn't move at all; she's just standing right there, smiling awkwardly once she's done shooting looks of commiseration and encouragement toward her clutchmates. Kouzevelth, on the other hand, descends on Dremkoth, who she assumes is likely to tell all somehow: « What did you do? »

Th'ero's attention turns sharply back to D'ani when he laughs, but thankfully for the bronze weyrling he keeps it brief. The Weyrleader's gaze lingers though and he seems to consider the words he speaks for some time under a tense and rather awkward silence. "Perhaps." Is the only reply Th'ero will give. "But that will remain to be seen. I will speak with you later, D'ani. I will speak with /all/ of you," he says firmly and his tone leaves little room for argument. "Privately. Later, once M'icha is finished dealing with you as he sees fit." That doesn't sound pleasant. Inri is given another look when she is standing there and smiling awkwardly. "You may go as well, Inri." Th'ero does dismiss her now too, features twisting back into a scowl as he turns to go but instead is waylaid by Kimmila speaking out just as he begins to step closer to her side (likely seeking to draw her away… so much for that?). Straightening, the Weyrleader looks awkwardly put on the spot and his eyes glance back over his shoulder. How many of the Weyrlings remain? Enough, it seems that he /has/ to answer the bluerider. Grimacing, his jaw works again and with a heavy exhale, voices her punishment outloud as well, all while giving her a hardened look. Why? "You are restricted from flying within Gold Hill's territory, barring a full scale emergency. No sweeps, no patrols in that area. And certainly no visits." Pause and he has to grit his teeth and force himself to say the rest. "You will report to Harper Hall or the Harpers here, to undergo a few extra lessons in how to /properly/ handle diplomatic relations." At least he's not foisting her in on the Weyrling's lectures? Cause they're liable to be /drowned/ in lectures for the next few days.

Dremkoth is a muddy mess, so D'ani hasn't gone far. He's just a stone's throw away (nono, Crosenturath, you didn't hear that) undoing the equally mud-caked harness, having a time getting the clogged clips undone. Awkward indeed. Not listening! Lalala! Nevertheless, he hears and winces for Kimmila. At least she wasn't busted back down to Weyrling? Dremkoth takes some time trying to recall just what had him so riled, shares with all dragons - Velokraeth included - because well. How often do they have something eventful beyond how they got the plumpest, juiciest wherry in the feeding pens to discuss? « The landing field was uncomfortably muddy and so I found a dry place to curl up in. It was a little snug. » His night breezes eddy in a swirling current of uneasiness. « It was fascinating until mine was angry. I think they locked D'ani up in a room and tried to get him to eat poison food and they were going to… » He's not grown up enough to understand the thoughts he'd pulled from his lifemate's head so he colors his next with his own interpretation, « ‚Ķmake Varmiroth's rider see a healer because they were going to hurt her in a dark dungeon. » His eddy becomes a brisk wind of displeasure. « They wouldn't let mine go anywhere when he wanted to go see if she was alright. And the holder's son is a bad man who is going to tell all the holds that Fort Weyr doesn't protect the holds. Mine didn't punch his face after he pushed Varmiroth's rider even though she and the little egg inside her could have been hurt. » Pause. « And a window got broken by my tail when I… got stuck in the courtyard. » Collateral damage? Definitely afterthought.

Kimmila meets Th'ero's gaze and if she's apologetic for putting him on the spot like this, well…he can probably see it in her eyes. Sorry? She accepts her punishment with a slow nod and a small grimace, but she's had far worse so it's not really /that/ bad. "Harper Hall?" she mouths, a brow arching. Really? That one? And then she's subtly closing the gap, stepping just close enough to be on the edge of his personal space. And then Dremkoth is giving his recollection, and Varmiroth lifts his head up and warbles, surprised. « They were going to hurt mine?! » Seems he /missed/ that part. He told Velokraeth about the part where Unevyr pushed Kimmila, right? Because if he left that out…whoops?

Harmony is sort of still here, glad to get out from under the Eye of the Weyrleader. Maybe she hangs around D'ani for a little if only because her fellow weyrlings are always good at being good distractors (and attractors) for her wayward blue! Of Kimmila and Th'ero, once she's out of the hotseat, she doesn't give them a backward glance other to ensure she /stays/ out from the hotseat! Doot, doot, doot. Maybe now's the right time to make a *real* escape. Exit… stage left!

Inri has accepted her dismissal, and is heading back toward the other weyrlings when she stops, mid-step, to just /stare/ at D'ani. "What is he talking about?" she asks, in a hushed tone. "Someone tried to poison you? That can't actually be what happened, was it?" It's Inri alone who is demanding more information; Kouzevelth seems satisfied, except to turn her attentions toward Varmiroth's concern. Attentions only, no words — she's just very obviously /there/, paying attention to his reaction. "And someone locked Kimmila in a dungeon? This sounds too awful to be true, Dremkoth is going to be the Weyr's next awful gossip."

"Harper Hall." Th'ero confirms and almost stresses the location again to Kimmila, not moving away as she subtly closes the gap and stepping just within the edge of his personal space. The Weyrleader does, in fact, reach to lightly grip her arm, just below her elbow if the bluerider doesn't evade him. No escape for her. The look he gives her speaks enough: they need to talk. Leaving the Weyrling's in M'icha's care now, Th'ero stalks off and back towards the northern bowl, no doubt keeping to his word that he will be in his office and likely for a good portion of the day. Velokraeth has remained umoving from his perch, looking almost bored with the proceedings, amused previously by Kouzevelth though the pale bronze gave no help to her query. Dremkoth's detailed recollection though has his attention, oversized head and missmatched eyes focusing on the young bronze. « Oh please, » he scoffs, the clear and crystal whites and honey wine smooth and yet sharp as they accent his rolling tone and mood. « They would gain nothing by poisoning. And no harm came of Varmiroth's. » And he sends a bit of a soothing touch to the blue. Easy there. « There was no locking in any dungeon though the Fat-One did push her, yes. That is not so forgivable. » Leave it to the bronze to sort the truth out from the untruth. Thank you Dremkoth, for the delightful puzzle. « Pity about the mud. » But not the window, it seems. Velokraeth must feel that is justified. But he does snort in mental amusement. « Courtyards are no friend to dragon kind, Dremkoth. » Lesson learned? And likely forgotten soon enough.

If Harmony's going to stand by him, D'ani is going to put her to work helping him get these stubborn buckles and clips undone. He catches Dremkoth's broadcast take on the visit and actually facepalms. Yeeep. Muddy hand and all. Then of course has to swipe at it with his forearm to get the grime off. Which action does little good. "Not… exactly as he put it, no," D'ani answers with a yank that finally gets the left chestplate clip undone. Boy oh boy is he going to be busy cleaning the harness later! "He did curl up in the courtyard; he did get stuck there and his tail did break the window when he picked up on how frustrated I was being stuck in a room - though I don't think they locked the door though they might have - we never checked it." Thinkthink, what all wild claims did his dragon make again? Oh yes! "The food wasn't poison, but I didn't want to eat it because… well the whole situation was weird and there was enough for a banquet but only five of us. He's confused with a sarcastic comment I made to Harmony, that's all." He sends an unreadable look towards Kimmila and lowers his voice, "I was worried they'd harm her." Long story short, "Things there just don't add up." The summarizing comment, come to think of it, echoes Dremkoth's garbled account rather nicely, doesn't it?

Kimmila does not evade Th'ero's light grasp, just nodding in reply. Yes, yes they do, and she follows alongside him. Though when Varmiroth relays Dremkoth's account of events, she does look back over her shoulder at D'ani, brows raised and a difficult to pin down expression on her face. Surprise? Gratitude? It's hard to tell, especially since she turns back around so quickly, but perhaps her mixed expression meets up with his unreadable look. They'll have to sort it out later, because Bluerider and Weyrleader are soon gone. Back in the training ground, Varmiroth shakes his head with a low snort. « She is fine, » he confirms, his moment of surprise fleeting and already past. « And I am starving. » And with that rather simple statement, the blue is kicking off to soar to the feeding grounds and eat himself into a deep sleep.

"So they /were/ going to have a banquet, and your showing up got it cancelled and they tried to feed you guys instead. And bribe you not to tell," is Inri's way of justifying just how weird that does, in fact, sound to her. "I mean, they're definitely hiding /something/. That's unequivocally obvious. When are we going back?" If anyone expected a different response from the weyrling goldrider, they were not aware of who they were speaking to. "Although I guess dragons might be kind of obvious; we might have to send someone else to report back for us."

When are they going back? Probably never. Dremkoth is headed to the lake for a scrubbing, frigid water not dampening (ha!) his enthusiasm to get the itchy mud caking his hide OFF. Then he'll be oiled and sleep like the dead because the flight and the emotions have tired him out. He'll awake with a crick in his back that, of course, he cannot explain and oh, why does the tip of his tail feel a tad sensitive? Oh well.


'The World of Pern(tm)' and 'The Dragonriders of Pern(r)' are copyright to Anne McCaffrey (c) l967, 2000. This is a recorded online session, by permission of the author but generated on PernWorld MUSH for the benefit of people unable to attend.

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